Or: you hadn't planned for your car to start acting up on your way back home near midnight. paying your really hot mechanic a vist wasn't planned, not tonight anyway. what you also hadn't planned was getting bent over the hood of your own car by said mechanic (that one was planned, but that's besides the point)
Warnings: MDNI!! 2.5k-ish pwp, oral (m rec.), piv, exhibitionism, talks of cars i have no clue about, reader is lowkey a bimbo, both of them are pervs, barely proofread
You pulled into the lot at 11:48 pm, the engine of your car giving one final, pathetic shudder before falling silent. The heavy metal shutter of the garage was halfway closed, cutting the interior light into a sharp, slanted rectangle on the asphalt.
Just as you killed the ignition, the heavy thud of boots echoed near the entrance of the garage. Chan stepped out, squinting at you, his lips twitching upward when he realized who it was. He left the shutters open and signaled you to pull in.
You’d been here three times in the last two months alone. Once for a brake pad squeal that probably didn't exist, another for an oil change you could have done yourself, and now this. but who could blame you? he's hot and he doesn't overcharge you.
Each visit was kept professional enough, a formal exchange of "Yes, mr. bang" and "No, thank you, ma'am" that served as a flimsy curtain over the heat building between you.
You liked the way he looked at you and you liked the way he played along, keeping the professionalism intact while his eyes tracked the movement of your hips every time you stepped out of the driver's seat.
“My car has a bit of a temper,” you say, leaning back against the door with a slow, stretch that pulls your shirt tight across your chest. You watch his gaze dip, tracking the movement, before his eyes snapped back to yours again.
You’ve played this game for months - the truth is, you don't give a damn about the engine, you just want to see if he’ll finally stop calling you 'ma'am' and start calling you something else.
“Temper, huh?” Chan , a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he steps into your space “Well, let’s see what’s got you so worked up.” He gestures for you to pop the hood, and as you pull the lever, he leans over the engine bay. The movement pulls his work shirt tight across his shoulders, the fabric straining against the muscle of his back.
“knew that sound wasn’t right,” he mutters, poking a finger toward a ruptured vacuum hose. He winces, the expression tightening his jaw as he realizes the rubber has completely perished, leaving the engine gasping for air.
He doesn't look at you, but you can see the muscle in his cheek twitching. He’s focused now, sliding right back into work as he reaches for a wrench, his knuckles rapping against the metal with a heavy thud.
You don't move from your spot, leaning your hip against the fender and watching the way his biceps bunch and ripple under that gosh darn tank top.
He’s working with a slow, methodical precision, his large hands moving with a surprising lightness as he detaches the faulty part, and you make sure to let out a soft, appreciative hum.
“Done,” he says after a few minutes of working. He wipes his hands on a rag, his eyes finally locking onto yours.
He lets the rag drop onto the engine block with a dull thud, his gaze dropping to your lips for a split second before he clears his throat. “That’ll be eighty bucks for the part and the labor. Plus a little extra for the midnight call out fee.”
You let out a soft, teasing tsk, shifting your weight so your hip brushes against the warm metal of the car. “Eighty? For a little piece of rubber? You’re getting greedy, Mr. Bang.” You tilt your head, “I might have to find a more affordable shop.”
“You could try,” he chuckles, shrugging “But I don’t think anyone else in this city is gonna give you the kind of... personal attention I do.” He's moving closer, his broad shoulders blocking out the garage lights, casting you in a heavy, suffocating shadow.
You don't back down. Instead, you reach out and trail a finger along his arm. “Maybe we can... negotiate the price. I’m not sure I have eighty on me right now...”
you did have eighty on you. probably.
“Well, I am a businessman, sweetheart, Why don’t you show me exactly how you plan on convincing me?”
and that was all you needed to hear.
you let your gaze drop to the heavy buckle of his belt, then slowly sank to your knees. You keep your eyes locked on his, watching the way his breath hitches and his posture stiffens.
Your fingers find the button of jeans, popping it open n' sliding the zipper down, revealing the tight stretch of his boxers. He’s already half-hard, a heavy, pulsing weight straining against the fabric.
you press your palm flat against the length of him, circling the head with your thumb, teasing the bead of moisture leaking through the cotton.
“Fuckin’ tease,” Chan grunts, his voice cracking. He lets out a low, jagged moan that vibrates through the air, his head tilting back as his hips give a reflexive, involuntary twitch toward your hand.
You reach inside, hooking your fingers into the waistband and pulling him free. He springs out, thick and pulsing, the skin flushed a deep, hungry red.
You wrap your fingers around the base and pump him twice, in a slow, firm motion that draws a long, satisfied sigh from his throat.
Then you take him.
The moment your lips slide over the crown, he lets out a choked sound, his hips jerking forward. “Now we’re talkin’,” he rasps, the words barely coherent.
You take your sweet time swirling your tongue around the ridge, savoring the salt and the heat, before sliding your mouth down the length of him. You use your hand to pump the base while your mouth creates a vacuum, sucking him deep until he’s hitting the back of your throat.
Chan’s hands make theirway to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands and guiding your rhythm. He lets out a jagged sound, his hips starting to roll in a slow, desperate search for friction. “God, you’re… you’re fuckin’ killing me,” he rasps, the words breaking.
You don't let up. You use your palm to cup his heavy balls, squeezing lightly as you suck the length of him, your lips creating a tight, wet seal that has his eyes rolling back.
His breath becomes a series of short, sharp hitches. his chest heaving as he looks down at you, his expression one of pure, concentrated hunger. “Right there… juuuust like that,”
And then fingers tighten in your hair, not giving you a warning as he rams deep into your throat, forcing a muffled gasp from your lungs.
Your eyes water as he bottoms out, his thick head hitting the back of your throat with a heavy, blunt force that makes you gag. You choke, a wet, strangled sound echoing in the quiet garage, but you don't pull away. Instead, you lean into it, your throat stretching and molding around his girth, taking every single inch of him.
and that does it for him. his eyes are squeezed shut, “I’m gonna— fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he groans, a jagged, desperate sound that vibrates through his entire frame.
Then his body stiffens, a violent shudder racking his broad shoulders as he lets out a loud, shaking moan. You feel the first hot, thick surge hit the back of your tongue, a heavy pulse of heat that fills your mouth. your tongue swirling around the head to milk every last drop out of him, listening to the sound of his ragged, uneven breathing.
His large hand slides from your hair to the nape of your neck, fingers curling tight as he hauls you upward. You stumble into him, breathless and flushed, and he crashes his lips against yours.
It’s messy, a starving kind of kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim every inch of you, before he abruptly breaks away.
He doesn’t give you a second to even catch your breath, because with a sudden, powerful movement, he spins you around.
“Changed my mind,” he rasps, “I think I need a lil’ more convincing.”
And you feel him.
Hard.
He’s already hard again.
It’s impossible, really, but the thick, pulsing length of him is jamming right into the cleft of your backside. You can feel the dampness of your own arousal soaking into your panties, the slickness leaking out and gluing the fabric to your skin.
he reaches down, pulling down your pants down in one go, “Look at that” he's hooking two fingers into the side of your underwear and ripping them aside with a satisfying snap. “Dripping for me already. You’re a mess, sweetheart.”
You let out a shaky, breathy laugh, arching your back to press yourself firmer against his thigh. “Maybe you just… work too fast, Mr. Bang,” you tease, “I can’t keep up with you.”
“Oh, you’ll keep up,” he rasps, his hand sliding forward to find your clit, rubbing it in a heavy, circular motion that makes your knees buckle.
his hands plant onto your hips, fingers digging into your skin with a bruising intensity that anchors you in place. there is no slow buildup, he simply lines himself up and sinks into your wet cunt in one heavy, devastating shove.
The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, strangled wheeze. You’re stretched wide, your walls stretching as he bottoms out, filling every single corner of you until you feel like you might actually split. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, your forehead slapping against the metal of the hood as your vision goes white.
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice a distorted wreck. He stays buried for a second, letting you feel the sheer, throbbing scale of him. “takin' it like a champ”
Then he starts moving.
He sets a harsh, punishing pace from the get-go, each thrust a heavy t that echoes through the space around you. You’re being hammered into the hood, your breath coming in jagged, sobbing gasps.
“Please—” you manage to choke out, your fingers clawing at the paint, leaving streaks that you'd probably crash out over later.
“Please what, baby? Tell me,” he rasps, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your shoulder all while he drives deeper, “Tell me how it feels to have me stretch you out like this.”
“It’s — too much — oh god!” You let out a loud, uncontrolled moan that bounces off the high ceilings of the garage, the sound echoing through the empty lot outside.
Chan’s eyes darken at the sound of your voice carrying, and without missing a beat, he shifts his grip. One of his palms slides from your hip and clamps firmly over your mouth, sealing your cries against his skin in a little "Mmph—!"
He leans in, his chest crushing on your shoulder blades, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Shh,” he rasps, “You're being way too loud, sweetheart. Someone might hear just how much you like being used like a little toy on your own car.”
The mere suggestion of an audience makes your insides seize, tightening around him in a sudden, involuntary spasm, your walls clamping down on him. The sensation is so intense it draws a sharp hiss of air from his lungs, his hips momentarily locking as he feels you literally trying to swallow him whole.
“Oh, you like that,?” he breaths, his voice dropping to a whisper. palm still pressed firm to keep your whimpers trapped. “The thought of someone walking in and seeing you bent over your hood, taking every inch of me while you can’t even make a sound. You’re a little exhibitionist, aren’t you, baby?”
His hand slides from your mouth, the sudden rush of air making you gasp, his fingers wraping around the column of your throat instead.
He’s hitting a rhythm that has your vision swimming. Every slam is a thunderclap in your lower belly, sending sparks shooting up your spine. You can feel the tension coiling in your gut, a tight, humming coil that’s seconds away from snapping.
“I’m— I’m gonna—” you sob, your voice breaking into a high, thin wail. You arch your back, trying to push back against him, “Chan, please— m'cumming”
“Yeah? You’re gonna break for me?” he rasps, his voice a ruined shred of its former self. “Do it. Fuck, just do it, baby. I’m right there— I’m right there with you.”
A loud, shattered moan of his name rips from your throat, vibrating through your entire frame as the first wave of your orgasm crashes over you.
At the exact same moment, Chan lets out a groan, his body locking into a rigid line. He rams into you one last time, his hips stuttering to a dead stop as he floods you, the hot, heavy pulses of his release hitting your cervix in thick bursts.
For a long minute, the only sound in the garage is the synchronized, ragged gasping. You stay slumped over the hood, your muscles twitching in the afterglow, feeling the slow, steady drip of combined fluids sliding down your thighs and onto the floor.
Chan slowly pulls back, the wet, suctioning sound of his exit echoing in the silence. He stays close, his chest still heaving against your back, as he looks down at the glistening mess leaking out of both of you, painting a silver trail across your skin. He lets out a low, impressed whistle.
“thirty percent off, hm?" he's back to pushing in slow, agonizingly deep rolls that grind him against your sensitive walls.
“fourty,” you command.
“One more round n’ I’ll make it sixty”
a/n: okay listen skz in uniform raise your hand if you agree
cw: somnophilia(consensual), unprotected p ‘n v, reader doesn’t wake up, vanilla
an: second thing i wrote after a bit- i like the idea but not sure i love how i wrote it 🥹
You lay comfortably on your shared bed with your boyfriend, Chan. White sheets, blanket ‘n pillow cases. The blanket was big and poofy, doing just enough to keep you that perfect level of cool and warm.
You wore nothing but your bra and a pair of tiny sleep shorts. The fabric soft against your skin- Chan knew, after all, he was the one who bought you them.
And you looked so cute in them. Body sprawled out and relaxed while you slept. Unaware that your boyfriend returned home a night earlier than expected.
The bed dipped under his weight. His knees digging into the mattress as he slowly moved the blanket from your body. His thumb brushing against the soft skin of your waist.
He could smell the scent of the dove x crumbl key lime skin set he got you a couple weeks ago.
You looked beautiful, hair sprawled across the pillow. body relaxed and flush against the white sheets.
You looked innocent, blissfully unaware of how horny he was.
His hand ran up and down your waist, causing you to shiver lightly in your sleep.
“baby?” He spoke, hand coming up to move hair out from your face. Voice soft, checking to see how far asleep you were.
You didn’t stir. You stayed where you were. No flinching as he moved your hair, or a sleepy mumble when he spoke to you.
A grin formed on his face. Hands trailing back down to your ass, which was pressed again his thigh. He gave a light slap to the clothed flesh, then groped it.
His cock strained against his sweats, desperate to get in your tight ‘n warm cunny.
He sat down carefully. One hand fisting himself through his pants, other spreading your thighs. Pushing the limb gently to the side.
He palmed your clothed cunt, feeling the heat even with the barrier of the fabric.
“Fuck..” He let out, teeth catching his lip. He moved his hand up, hooking a finger into your waistband and pulling down. Breath catching in his throat when he saw you had no panties on. Cunt bare and glistening slightly already.
“Jesus… fucking nympho.” He cursed with no real venom. Thumb brushing lightly against your slick folds.
He lifted his hips just enough to pull his pants down, settling for mid thigh. Too desperate to properly take his clothes off. Taking his cock out through the slit of his boxers. Breath catching as his head caught the fabric.
He fisted his cock that twitched in his hand. Shifting just enough for him to be able to properly push into your warm cunt.
He bit his lip to hold back a moan as he ran his cock against your slick folds. Spitting down to help coat his cock.
He pushed in and he let out a moan- you were warm and tight. Pussy clenching around his cock.
“Feels so good, baby.” He hummed even though you couldn’t hear him. Resting a hand on the bed next to your back.
He waited for a second- biting his lip simply at the feeling of finally being in you after wanting it so bad for so long.
He started moving, a silent moan escaping up through his throat. His thrusts slow- he didn’t wanna wake you. Not when you looked so pretty and cozy asleep.
He leaned down. Placing soft, open mouthed kisses to your cheek, down to your neck then shoulder.
His thrusts were lazy- his tiredness evident in his thrusts. Grinding against you, deep in your cunt. Biting his lips at your small, unconscious sounds of pleasure.
He laid his weight further onto you subconsciously. Getting caught up in the feeling. You just felt so good. As if even half unconscious you knew how to make him come undone.
You shifted.
Not a big shift- just a soft murmur and turning your head to the other side. Slightly disturbed but just repositioning, brows furrowing slightly. Your walls squeezing around him.
“Go back to sleep, baby.” He spoke, voice soft. Lifting himself up slightly as he brought his hand up to brush your hair out of your face. “I know you’re sleepy.”
His words were soft. “Don’t worry.” He let out- low and through a moan. He was getting close. Being able to see your peaceful face better now.
He sped up slightly. Not enough to wake you but enough that he got closer quicker.
“Shit-“ He pretty much whimpered. Pulling out and fisting his cock, just hard enough for spurts of cum to decorate your slick and puffy folds. Some of it landing on your though ‘n the sheets.
His hand on his cock slowed as he rode out his orgasm, his breathing relaxing. His arousal getting replaced with a content feeling tiredness.
He put himself back into his boxers, lazily kicking his pants the rest of the way off and throwing them. Fabric landing half on the bed and half on the floor.
He leaned back on his feet. Hand coming up to squeeze the fat of your ass before he leaned forward- toward the night stand. Grabbing a couple pieces of tissue.
He cleaned you up lightly. Adjusting your thigh to make it easier, then flicked the messy tissue back onto the nightstand.
A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he finally laid down on his side. The comfort of his own bed immediately relaxing the tensed muscles in his back.
He pushed his chest against your back, pulling your shorts back up before he let his arm rest around your waist. Nuzzling his head into your neck, breathing in the scent of your body wash and shampoo.
He smiled softly against your neck, sleep quickly taking over as he mumbled.
everyone seems to believe he’s a sub. because he looks soft. he wants to be taken care of, tends to not have as much of a demanding presence as the others
but that’s not him at all.
he hates the idea that people seem to have of him: subby 24/7, desperate, whiny.
that is him- to a degree. but that’s not him all the time. Not even close. But he’s not mean and serious either. Not close to that either
he loves to overwhelm. laughing at the way you react. teasing you while simultaneously making you laugh
“What” he cocked his head, grin on his lips as he looked down at you. Watching as your breath caught in your throat. His hand trailing slowly up and down the inside of your thigh. Going up just high enough to send a thrill of want through you.
“You know what..” You breath out. Tone a mix of annoyed and wanting. Biting your lip as his hand slowly trailed it’s way back up your thigh.
“Eek-!” You gasp suddenly, quickly closing your legs against Han’s hand. Laugh escaping from your lips. “Hm?” He hummed innocently, not stopping as he tickled the inside of your thigh, right where he knew you were ticklish.
he can seem mean. absolutely wrecking you and just laughing. one of his favourite things to do is get you so overwhelmed that you can’t even form words properly. he’s not mean- you’re just too cute!
You gripped the sheets as if they were a lifeline. continuous, unintangible moans ‘n whines falling from your lips nonstop. Thighs still shaking from your past orgasm and overstimulation.
Han chuckled from above you, one arm wrapped around your neck, being used by your head like a headrest. Other coming up to ruffle your hair, disheveling it even more. You looked so cute beneath him- completely overwhelmed, hair a mess.“You’re ok.” He cooed. a mix of comfort and playful teasing. “You’re a big girl, you can take it.”
he loves to try stuff- he’s kinky asf. suggesting some of the most absurd stuff to try- and either way, you love it. no matter what it is
“Shit-“ Han drawled, head shifting to rest on his shoulder. Hips moving against yours, the low ‘hmm’ of the vibrator against the both of you mixing with the sound of moans.
“Feels so good-“ You manage to get out through a moan. Pussy clenching around nothing as you felt his cock slide lazily through your folds, vibrator on your clit ‘n his tip. Pleasure making you completely forget about the unpleasant position he had you in.
Han just grinned triumphantly, pushing the vibrator harder against the two of you, tearing a moan from yours and his throat as he spoke, “Told you it would..”
when he does sub though? yeah- he’s pretty close to the assumptions: whiny, desperate. and he’s not embarrassed to admit it. to admit that occasionally he does just… need to be taken care of
“P-please Y/N… shit.” Han squeezed his eye’s shut, hiding his face into your chest. panting as you continued riding him even after he just came. His cum still decorated his stomach. Slowly sliding down and drying up. “I came three times-“
“And i’ve only cummed once.” Your voice was firm. One hand moving from his shoulder to his chin, gripping the skin hard and forcing him to look up at you. “That’s not very fair is it?” You pout, momentarily stilling your hip. He shakes his head ‘no’. “So you’ll be a good boy and let me use you, right?”
All you get in response is a whine, then a nod, his arm tightening around and face moving to hide against your chest. Breath hitching in his throat when you start moving again. “Good boy.”
so yes- he is a sub occasionally. but he hates the assumption that it’s all he does: especially when he’s the one who makes you an overwhelmed, desperate ‘n pathetic mess a lot of the time.
whether it’s when he’s looking down at your fucked out face as he’s balls deep inside of you - pussy clenching and sucking him in with each thrust. the way you’d weakly claw at his hands that held your hips down, pathetic whimpers escaping your mouth as he hit that sweet spot every single time. “cum on daddy’s cock, princess”, he’d whisper into your ear - almost inaudible amongst the loud moans that escaped your mouth; a telltale sign of that burning sensation in your lower stomach.
whether’s it’s when you’re touching yourself - legs spread open in the leather seat next to him as he worked on a new song. he’d glance at you, obviously distracted - at your small fingers that he knew didn’t satisfy you enough, at the way your other hand travelled up to grab the seat of your chair, trying to rut your hips against your own hand to release some tension. he would have a vision then; a vision of your head tilted back, plump lips open in a silent gasp. “fuck - so wet for me” he’d say, as he curled his fingers upwards to prod at your gummy walls. that’s why again, he was knuckles deep inside of your pussy, task at hand quickly forgotten, just to hear those angelic moans of yours one last time.
- would grab anything from your tits, to your neck, to handfuls of your hair and a firm grip on your ass
- he loves the reaction he gets from you when his rough fingers scrape your scalp gently before grabbing a handful of your messy locks of hair and tugging on it when you act up
- his veins popping up as he tilts your head back towards him from the force of your hair being pulled
- with the other hand, grabs a hold of your chin, thumb entering your lips
- when your lips are forcibly parted, he would spit on your tongue
- any spit that escapes your mouth is being collected by his thumb, smeared roughly around your swollen lips
- is a pro at fingering you
- thumb pushing down on your clit with the right force while his pointing finger and middle finger dipped in and out of your hole shallowly
- (spits on your hole and watches his saliva enter with each thrust of his fingers)
- when you’re about to cum, he loves to deny your orgasm by taking his thumb off of your clit and taps it ever-so-lightly
- (so light that it has your clit throbbing and your back arching for more contact)
- when you squirm, expect a harsh slap to your clit
- rubs quick random patterns on your clit with his thumb just to get you closer to the edge again, only to stop when your moans get louder
- is an exhibitionist so also loves to cover your mouth with his strong hand
- fucks you so hard from the back, one hand kneading and slapping your ass, the other hand covering your muffles
- would sometimes hook his fingers on to the side of your mouth so your tongue hangs out from your open mouth
- “awww kitten - looking so dumb on my cock”
- “you like it when i slap your cute little clit?”
- “look at your dumb little hole swallowing my fingers”
i know everyone paints jisung to be the sub but imagine him being a dom… imagine he becomes so mean when you piss him off. and i mean like PISS him off. he would be all cold, ordering you around and not giving you an inch of what you want. think orgasm denial, throat fucking, you know what i mean. hands grabbing a fistful of your hair as he drags your around the bed. he would get that look in his eyes that told you how angry he was; not necessarily at you - but when jisung feels, he feels.
“what did you think would happen when you pissed me off, huh?”
“awww baby you look so cute begging”
“your sweet little pussy wants to cum? well, hold it in because you’re not allowed to.”
jisung is the type of boyfriend who always needs to be touching you.
you’re scrolling on your phone in bed? his arm are wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he lets out a chuckle from a meme on your screen. or, depending on the occasion, he’d let his hands wander down your body, fingers playing with the lace of your panties. he would lightly graze over the fabric, thumb catching on your bud.
you’re cooking? he’s got a hand on the small of your back, his fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your t-shirt. or, he’d have a hand groping your ass, while the other floated upwards to move your hair to the side, his lips finding that sweet spot on your neck.
you’re watching tv? he’s mindlessly running his hands up and down your arm; almost as if he’s warming you up. or, his digits will be busy finding his way inside of your gummy walls, prodding where he knows is your weak spot.
you’re buying groceries? he’s either got an arm draped over your shoulders, or his arm is linked with yours. (he’d only let go when you actually need to use both of you arms!)
inexperienced!felix who always stares at your tits and thinks that you don’t notice
inexperienced!felix who literally cums in his pants after your makeout session because your hand brushed across his crotch
inexperienced!felix who thinks about what your mouth would feel like, as he showers, running his hand under the warm water and creating an ‘o’ shape with his hand, fisting his cock
inexperienced!felix who physically cannot stop himself from getting hard all the time around you - actually, not even just around you. he catches a whiff of your perfume in a store, he is getting hard right there and then
inexperienced!felix who accidentally (he promises it was an accident!!!) walks into the bathroom when you’re stepping out of the shower and his mind goes completely blank. the only words he can splutter out are sorry’s and oh’s.
inexperienced!felix who gets pinned down by you who is still damp from the shower, and he really, really likes it
inexperienced!felix who moans when he touches your body as if he is feeling the pleasure for you
inexperienced!felix who does not understand the pacing of foreplay, or of the actual act of fucking you and just ruts himself against you, and inside of you at uncontrollable speed
inexperienced!felix who is a whiner before a groaner - whimpering with his bottom lip in between his teeth, eyes watering and red splotches appearing in his chest from all of the excitement
inexperienced!felix who cums so deep in you that you see stars, and instead of pulling out, he holds you there on top of him, his cock still throbbing with pent-up need
inexperienced!felix who flips you onto your back for round two, since he is no longer inexperienced and this man is still horny!!!!
a/n: i’m back!!! (jk i just decided to finish and edit a badly written draft 😫) perverted/inexperienced felix just lived in my head rent free for so long i needed to share this with someone… but i’m sorry!! work has been kicking my ass and my creativity has been sucked out 🫠
Pairing: Han Jisung x Fem!reader
Genre: Smut, MDNI!
Tags/Warnings: Riding, Oral (m!reciving!), Praise kink, Dom!reader, Sub!Jisung, Pathetic!sub, Nerd!Jisung, Unprotected sex, P in v, Bullу x nerd, Porn with plot(?), Mean girl!reader, Bullу!reader, Jisung being a masochist
A/n: It's my first time writing Skz smut. Will i write something like this again? Probably not, but i'm not sure. I just decided to try something new. And btw, Nerd!Jisung is my forever favorite boy toy
The library was supposed to be his sanctuary. Late afternoon light filtered through the dusty blinds, and the smell of old paper usually calmed him. But today, the scratching of his pen against notebook paper did nothing to drown out the footsteps.
Jisung knew those footsteps. He knew the click of your heels on the linoleum. He knew the way your shadow fell across his desk, blocking the sun.
"Still studying, nerd?" Your voice dripped with that familiar condescension. He didn't look up. He didn't dare.
"I—I have a test tomorrow." His voice cracked. Fuck.
You laughed. It was a cruel, musical sound that made his stomach flip. You slid into the seat beside him, your knee brushing his thigh under the table. He flinched, but didn't move away. He never moved away.
"You always have a test. Always studying. Always hiding behind those thick glasses." You reached out and plucked them off his face. He blinked, suddenly vulnerable, his world blurring.
"Please—" he started.
"Please what?" You leaned closer. Your breath was warm against his cheek. "You want them back? Then look at me."
He did. Brown eyes, wide and terrified. Needy. Pathetic. You loved that look.
"Good boy." The praise slipped out before you could stop it. You saw his throat bob as he swallowed.
You grabbed his wrist, yanking him up from the chair. His backpack hit the floor with a thud, papers scattering. "Hey—"
"Shut up." You dragged him through the book stacks, past the creaking shelves, into the tiny storage room at the back. The door clicked shut. The only light came from a single dusty bulb above.
It was cramped. A mop bucket, cleaning supplies, a rickety folding chair. You pushed him against the wall, your body pressing into his. He was so much taller than you, but he hunched, making himself small.
"You know what I'm going to do to you?" you whispered.
His hands trembled at his sides. "No."
"Liar." You smiled. "You've been thinking about it all day. I can see it in your jeans."
He looked down, then away, a flush creeping up his neck.
You dropped to your knees.
"Spread your legs," you commanded. Jisung complied instantly, his back still against the wall, his hands gripping the edge of a metal shelf for support. You unbuckled his belt with practiced ease, unzipped his jeans, pulled them down just enough.
His cock was already half-hard. Pathetic. You wrapped your fingers around the base, feeling it twitch. "So eager for me," you taunted. "Even when I make your life hell. You like that, don't you? You like being my little whipping boy."
"Y-yes," he breathed.
"What was that?" You tightened your grip.
"Yes," he said louder, his voice breaking. "I like it."
"Good." You leaned forward, took the tip of his cock into your mouth, and watched his eyes roll back.
You worked him slowly, deliberately, dragging your tongue along the shaft, sucking just hard enough to make him gasp. His face was flushed, his lips parted. He looked wrecked already. You hadn't even started.
"Is this what you think about when you're doing your homework?" You pulled back, your hand still stroking him. "When I call you a loser in front of everyone? When I trip you in the hallway?"
"Yes… fuck, yes…"
"You think about me on my knees for you?" You laughed. "You're twisted."
"I know." He was breathing hard, his chest heaving. "I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize." You took him deeper, feeling him hit the back of your throat. He cried out, a broken sound. You hummed around him, and his hips bucked involuntarily.
You pulled off, licking your lips. "Not yet. I want you inside me when you cum."
You stood up, pushed him down onto the folding chair. It groaned under his weight. He looked up at you, confused, desperate.
"I'm going to ride you," you said, unbuttoning your skirt. It pooled at your feet. "And you're going to sit there and take it like the pathetic little nerd you are. And when I'm done, you're going to thank me."
You straddled him, your knees bracketing his thighs. His cock pressed against your stomach. You reached between your legs, guiding him to your entrance. You were already wet—you hated that he could see it, hated that he knew what he did to you.
"Look at me," you said. "Don't you dare close your eyes."
Jisung stared up at you, his hands hovering near your hips but not touching. You hadn't given permission.
You sank down.
The stretch was perfect. He filled you completely, and the sound he made—a choked moan, almost a sob—made your pulse race. You sat still for a moment, letting him feel it, letting him feel you.
"Fuck," he whispered.
"That's right." You began to move. Slow at first, grinding your hips in a lazy circle. You watched his face contort, his mouth hanging open, his eyes glassy. He was so easy. So beautifully, pathetically easy.
"Look at you," you said, picking up the pace. "Taking my cock like a good little slut."
"I am… I am…"
"You're what?" You slammed down harder.
"I'm your slut." His voice cracked. "I'm your good little slut."
"Fuck, yes, you are." You rode him faster, your hands on his shoulders for leverage, your nails digging into his skin. He gasped, flinched, but didn't pull away. The masochist. "You love this. You love being my toy."
"Yes… love it… love you…"
The words slipped out. He froze. You froze. The air thickened.
Then you leaned forward, your forehead against his, your breath mingling. "Say it again."
"I… I love you." His voice trembled. "I know it's pathetic. I know you hate me. But I love you."
You kissed him. It was hard and desperate and tasted like lust. You bit his lower lip, drawing blood. He groaned into your mouth.
"You're so pathetic," you murmured against his lips. "So fucking pathetic. And you're mine."
You began to ride him again, harder, faster, chasing your own pleasure. He was thrusting up into you, his hips meeting yours, his hands finally gripping your waist. You let him. He earned it.
"Cum for me," you commanded. "Cum inside me, you good fucking boy."
His body seized. His back arched, a strangled cry tore from his throat, and you felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick. The sensation pushed you over the edge. You climaxed around him, your walls clenching, your nails raking his chest through his shirt.
Afterward, you both sat there, breathing hard, tangled together on the creaking chair. His head rested against your shoulder. You felt his tears on your skin.
"Shh," you said, running your fingers through his hair. "You did so good."
"I'm sorry," he whispered again.
"For what?"
"For being pathetic. For loving you."
You laughed softly. "Don't apologize for that. It's what makes you mine."
You kissed the top of his head, then pulled away, tucking yourself back into your skirt. He watched you, still dazed, still vulnerable.
"You have a test tomorrow," you said, handing him his glasses. "Don't fail it. I need my nerd to stay smart."
He took them, put them on with shaking hands. The world came back into focus. You.
just a short drabble about hyunjin's kink to mark your whole body and use you as a living canvas
mdni!
warnings: f! reader, sexual content, biting, marking, fingering, mentions of jerking off
wc: 597
listen, hyunjin has a thing for marking you, leaving hickeys and bite marks all over your pretty skin.
he likes using you as his personal canvas, making you his one true masterpiece.
he invited you over to the dance studio one night, wanting to "show you his new solo choreography". he's already jerked off the thought of you once that day. but it wasn't enough. he needed to see you, to touch you, to fucking smell you.
and you came over, no questions asked, at one in the morning, looking all sleepy and adorable. fuck, he's so obsessed with you. he closed the door of the practice room behind you, hands grabbing your shirt desperately. "let me see." he murmurs, voice low, eyes glued to your body.
you knew he was referring to the marks he's left on you last time. they were already fading, only a light shade of yellow. you lift your shirt over your head, his eyes scanning your chest, stomach, shoulders. "they're almost gone..." he whispered, his fingers tracing the outlines of the bite marks on your shoulders. "i need to fix that." he murmured, eyes meeting yours hungrily. "hyunjin—" you moaned his name so very softly, it shattered him completely. his hands gripped your hair, pulling your face towards him harshly, his lips crashing into yours. he walked you backwards until your back hits the mirror, tongue pushing into your mouth, claiming.
you kissed him back, his hands roaming over your bare skin, groaning into your mouth. "paint me again, hyunjin. please—" that one little beg undid him completely. his cock was rock hard in his sweatpants, pressing against you. he fucking wants to paint you again. purple, pink, red. marks trailing over your tits, hips, thighs, neck. this wasn't about fucking. this was about creating his masterpiece.
he buried his face in your neck, teeth sinking into your pulse point immediately, making you moan out. his hands moved to your back, unclasping your bra, revealing the fading love bites on your tits. his teeth and lips trailed over your collarbones, down to your chest, biting the soft flesh, making you gasp in surprise. he only bit harder, marking you immediately, his fingers pinching your nipples roughly as he sucked hard, leaving purple marks on your skin.
and you couldn't help yourself but beg him for his fingers. inside you. while he paints your body. his eyes darkened immediately, pupils swallowing his brown eyes. the way you looked at him so desperately, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, voice thin with need. and you fucking begged. so beautifully.
"keep looking at me like that." he groaned, already fumbling with your pants. he ripped it off, helping you step out of it, hand immediately covering your soaked cunt. he slapped it once, harsh, making you jolt.
he kissed your shoulders, fingers sliding through your wet folds. he bit down hard when he slipped one digit inside, groaning against your skin at how smoothly his finger slid through your wetness. he added another finger, curling them, finding your g-spot, making you cry out.
he grabbed you, spun you around, your hands bracing against the mirror, his fingers still fucking you mercilessly. the other hand wrapped around your throat, pulling your head back. he wanted you to see the masterpiece he's already created on your body. the hickeys, the bite marks, the reddened skin from his rough treatment.
"look at yourself," he growled against your ear. "look at how fucking pretty i'm making you." his thumb pressed hard against your clit, rubbing roughly.
₊˚⊹ ᰔ │ smau, crack, suggestive, boobs, reader sends their boyfriend the famous pc boob trend and they love it greatly, REAL BOOBS!! girlfriend used in seungmins ss and babygirl used in jeongins
⟶ [ 𝐤𝐚𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ] thank you to my lovely team who helped me with sending me in their own pc trend! i much appreciate it! you can find my team tagged down below, psst one is mine ♡ ︎ [ 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢 ]
a/n ☆彡: WOAHHH HELLO, its been 90 years. i finally found the right time to get back in the grind again and feed my lovely readers!!! because its november, i was inspired to make this smau LMFAO. hope u enjoy, thanks for da love lil bros 🤍
Summary: You meet Han when he helps you produce your debut album. He helps you see the light.
Warnings: reader's boyfriend is an ass, cheating (not my main man Hannie let's be so fr), angst but happy ending (for now)
Word count: 8.7k.
a/n: i don't like my formatting in some of this but fuck it, it'll do duckies! if you need me, i'll be here yearning for soft Hannie xo
The front door slams so hard the frame rattles.
Cold night air hits your tear-streaked face as you stumble down the porch steps, arms wrapped around yourself like you can physically hold your heart together. Behind you, Wooyoung’s voice is still going — loud, careless, chasing after you through the open doorway.
“Baby, come on—”
You wipe furiously at your cheeks and keep walking.
“You’re unbelievable,” you choke out without turning around. “You flirt with anything that breathes, and somehow I’m the crazy one for being upset?” A bitter laugh leaves you. “God, I’m such an idiot.”
Your heels click sharply against the pavement. You hear him move closer, slower now, confident. Not worried. Never worried.
Because he already knows how this ends.
“Hey,” he calls, voice dropping into that smooth tone that always weakens your resolve. “Look at me.”
You refuse. A car passes at the end of the street, headlights sweeping briefly across both of you. You can practically feel his smirk before he even speaks again.
“We always get back together, baby.”
The words stop you cold. Not because they’re romantic, but because he means them. Because every breakup has become a rehearsal. Every apology memorised. Every kiss after a fight is expected. He says it like a fact, like gravity, like something inevitable. And the worst part?
A tiny, humiliating part of you wonders if he’s right.
You finally turn around. Your eyes are red, your mascara ruined, your chest aching. He’s standing there in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too calm for someone who just shattered you again.
“You really think that’s okay?” you whisper.
His expression flickers for half a second — almost guilt, almost affection. “I think,” he says carefully, “you love me too much to stay gone.”
Silence stretches between you.
And God, you hate that he might know you better than you know yourself.
You’d met your boyfriend when everything in your life still felt uncertain.
Back then, you were just another trainee buried among dozens of others in practice rooms that smelled like sweat and dust and ambition. Your days blurred together — dance evaluations, vocal lessons, monthly rankings, surviving on too little sleep and too much caffeine. You were exhausted all the time, constantly aware that one mistake could cost you your future.
And then suddenly, he noticed you.
He was already successful by then. An idol people recognised instantly. The kind that had fans screaming outside music shows and brand deals plastered across buildings in Seoul. You remembered seeing him in person for the first time backstage at a year-end show and nearly forgetting how to breathe.
He was impossibly handsome. Confident. Charming. Warm in a way that made you feel singled out in every room. When he started talking to you regularly, you genuinely thought it was a misunderstanding. You were nobody yet, so why would someone like him want you? But he did.
At least, it felt like he did.
He’d sometimes wait for you after practice just to walk you to the company entrance. He’d text you constantly despite his schedule, sending selfies from waiting rooms and voice messages late at night telling you he missed you already. He praised your singing as if he genuinely believed you were incredible, before you believed it yourself.
When you debuted as part of a group and the relationship became official behind closed doors, you thought you were living inside a dream.
The first few months were genuinely happy. He did all the things you’d ever wanted and more - he kissed your forehead when you were tired, he held your hand under restaurant tables, he told you he was proud of you after every performance, no matter how small it was. Sometimes he’d show up unexpectedly outside your company building just to take you for food because you’d mentioned being stressed.
You loved him completely. And maybe that’s why it took you so long to notice when things started changing.
It happened slowly. At first, it was small things. Replies would take longer, and plans would suddenly get cancelled. There was a lot less affection, both in and out of the bedroom. He stopped asking about your day. Stopped listening when you spoke. Conversations became distracted, half-hearted. He was always on his phone but never answered you.
You kept making excuses for him.
He’s tired.
He’s stressed.
His schedule is hard right now.
Whenever you tried bringing it up, he’d sigh like you were asking for too much.
“You know how busy I am.”
“You’re overthinking again.”
“You’re being sensitive.”
So, you tried harder instead, putting in more effort because you thought you could fill the new void in your relationship. You became easier, quieter, and less demanding. You learned not to ask for reassurance too often because he acted irritated when you did.
Then, about a year into the relationship, you found out about the first girl.
It wasn’t dramatic. There was no screaming confrontation, no movie scene. Just a photo someone posted online accidentally. He was in the background of a club with his arm around a woman who definitely wasn’t you. Then came the messages. Then rumours. Then the awful, nauseating confirmation when you confronted him and he went silent rather than deny it. You remembered sitting on the floor of your apartment, staring at him while your entire body shook.
And the worst part?
He cried. Not immediately, only after realising you might actually leave. He held your hands. Told you it meant nothing. Told you he was drunk and stupid and terrified of losing you. He said he loved you more than anyone. Said the pressure got to him. Said he’d change. And because you loved him — because you remembered the man from the beginning — you believed him. Or maybe you just wanted to.
After that, the relationship became a cycle you could never quite escape.
Things would improve briefly after every betrayal. He’d become affectionate again for a few weeks. He’d be gentle, attentive. The version of him you fell in love with would reappear just long enough to keep your hope alive.
Then slowly he’d disappear again.
More distance. More coldness. More fights. Sometimes there were other women. Sometimes there were only rumours you drove yourself insane trying to verify. Either way, you always ended up crying in front of him while he looked exhausted rather than sorry. And somehow, every time, he convinced you to stay. Sometimes it was through apologies, sometimes through guilt. Sometimes, simply by reminding you how deeply you still loved the version of him he used to be.
By now, two years in, you barely recognised yourself anymore.
You’d become anxious all the time. You were constantly hyperaware of his moods and careful with your words. You were ashamed of how desperate you were for the scraps of affection that used to come freely. You spent more time mourning the beginning of your relationship than actually enjoying the present version of it.
But leaving felt impossible. Because every so often, he’d smile at you the old way or pull you into his chest after a fight or whisper that he loved you, and your heart would desperately convince itself that maybe this time things would finally go back to how they were in the beginning.
Even though deep down, you were starting to realise they probably never would.
The morning after your latest fight, you wake slowly, disoriented at first.
The room smells like his cologne and clean laundry, sunlight cutting through the gap in the curtains in pale gold stripes. Your head throbs. Your throat burns from crying. One glance at the clock on his bedside table makes panic shoot through you.
“Shit.”
You push yourself upright too fast and immediately regret it. Your body feels heavy, emotionally bruised. Beside you, he’s still asleep on his stomach, bare back rising and falling steadily like nothing happened last night. Like he didn’t say exactly the right things to get you back into his arms. Again. You stare at him for a moment, eyes tracing his tattoo - I’m never alone and I will never be - before ripping your gaze away.
The memories come back in ugly flashes — fighting in the kitchen, storming out, his hand catching your wrist halfway down the block, the soft apologies murmured against your hair, the way he kissed you like he couldn’t stand losing you. And then the inevitable.
Now you just feel hollow. You failed at walking away for good yet again.
You throw on the first clothes you can find in your overnight bag: oversized hoodie, loose sweats, sneakers. Your hair gets twisted into a messy bun that’s barely holding together. Concealer does absolutely nothing for your swollen eyes. Perfect.
By the time you arrive at the studio, you already want to crawl into a hole. The receptionist gives you a polite smile before directing you upstairs, and the closer you get to the studio room, the more nervous you become. Not just because this is your debut solo album, but because you’re about to meet with 3Racha for the very first time, looking like you got hit by a truck emotionally and physically.
You knock softly before pushing the door open. Inside, Bang Chan looks up first from behind the mixing desk. His expression immediately shifts.
“Oh,” he says gently. “You okay?”
You instinctively straighten up. “Yep.”
There’s a beat where you all look at each other, and you can see the two older men trying to decide whether they should say something or not. Changbin makes the decision for them.
“Nope,” says Changbin from the couch, eyeing you with alarming accuracy. “You look like you fought a bear.”
Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you, but it’s rough and tired.
“Feels like it.”
The tension eases after that. Chan welcomes you in and gets you tea without asking what happened. Changbin makes terrible jokes as he sets his notebook beside yours. Neither of them pry, which somehow makes you feel even more grateful.
You settle into the studio slowly, headphones around your neck, lyric sheets spread over your lap. The session starts casually — melodies, concepts, talking through the emotional direction of the album. You’re halfway through explaining an idea when the studio door bursts open.
“Sorry! Sorry, traffic was hell—”
You look up and feel your heart flutter in your chest.
Han walks in with his backpack hanging off one shoulder, slightly out of breath, hair messy beneath a cap. Somehow, he looks exactly like every charming behind-the-scenes clip you’ve ever secretly replayed and also nothing like them at all. In person, he’s warmer… realer.
His eyes land on you immediately. “Oh— hi.” His whole face brightens. “You’re finally here.”
Finally here. Like he’d actually been looking forward to meeting you.
You try not to stare. “Hi,” you manage.
Chan snorts quietly from across the room, noticing the sudden weird energy between the two artists in front of him. He sneaks a glance at Changbin to see that he’s smirking, too.
Han drops into the seat beside you like you’ve known each other for years instead of minutes. He apologises for being late on three separate occasions, offers you snacks from his bag, and immediately asks about your musical influences with genuine interest rather than industry politeness.
As the session progresses, you decide that the scariest thing is how he listens to everything you say. Completely. When you speak about the album, he watches you like your thoughts matter. When you mention wanting your songs to sound “messy in an honest way,” his eyes light up like he understands exactly what you mean.
By lunchtime, the session is flowing effortlessly.
By mid-afternoon, you’re laughing - actually laughing- and the night before starts to feel like a distant memory.
Han keeps throwing out melody ideas while absentmindedly tapping rhythms against the desk with his rings. Every now and then, he says something so unexpectedly insightful that it catches you off guard. Other times, he’s ridiculous and dramatic, and Changbin threatens to mute his microphone permanently.
And every time he grins at you after making you laugh, your stomach betrays you. You hate it, because this — this easy warmth blooming in your chest — feels dangerously close to something you haven’t felt in a long time. You feel seen, but you also feel like a hypocrite. Had you not just argued with Wooyoung the night before about how he flirted with others? And now here you were, with butterflies in your stomach from another man.
Near the end of the session, you’re both leaning over the same lyric sheet, shoulders almost touching as you discuss the final verse.
“What if,” Han says softly, scribbling something out, “instead of just saying ‘some things just ain’t meant to be’… you make it more personal?” You glance at him, but he keeps writing as he talks. “Like…” He pauses, then reads quietly, “‘some things just ain’t meant to be, kinda like you and me.’”
The room goes silent for a second. You don’t know what to say, because it’s too accurate. Your chest tightens, and you clench your hands together to stop them from shaking. Slowly, Han looks up, and there’s this strange flicker in his expression — like he knows that line came from somewhere real for you. Something vulnerable passes between you both before Chan claps his hands loudly from the mixing desk.
“Okaaay,” he says, pointing between the two of you. “You’re either writing the best heartbreak song of the year or about to destroy this girl emotionally.”
Changbin wheezes, laughing, and you feel heat rush to your face while Han drops his head, grinning sheepishly. But later, when the session finally ends, and everyone starts packing up, Han walks beside you to the lift.
“You did really well today,” he says quietly.
You blink at him. “Even looking like this?”
He looks genuinely confused. “Like what?”
“A sleep paralysis demon.”
He laughs warmly and shakes his head. “No,” he says softly. “You looked sad.”
The lift doors open and you realise two things at once:
Your boyfriend has never looked at you that carefully, and,
Working with Han is going to become a very serious problem.
The studio always seemed to smell faintly of burnt coffee and overheated equipment, and you had slowly begun to associate it with exhaustion.
For the last week, nearly every waking hour had been spent tucked into one of the cramped rooms with 3Racha, chasing melodies despite your sleepless nights, scribbling half-finished lyrics across notebooks and phone notes. Chan kept everyone moving with relentless energy, Changbin bounced between intensity and chaos, and Han—
Han was noticing things.
“Hey.”
You blinked hard, pulled back from whatever fog you’d disappeared into. Han was sitting cross-legged in the swivel chair beside you, one headphone hanging around his neck. His voice was soft enough not to startle.
“You disappeared on me again.”
“Sorry.” You rubbed at your eyes quickly. “Just tired.”
He didn’t push. He never did. Your boyfriend would’ve rolled his eyes by now. He would’ve told you to stop being dramatic and asked why you were acting weird again. Han only nudged a bottle of water toward you, looking concerned.
“You haven’t touched this in like two hours.”
You laughed weakly through your nose. “Are you keeping track?”
“A little,” he admitted, smiling.
The smile hit you harder than it should’ve.
Across the studio, Chan stretched and announced he was starving, dragging Changbin out with him to pick up lunch before anyone passed out. The second the door slammed shut behind them, silence settled over the room. It wasn’t awkward silence; it was just a peaceful silence shared between friends.
Han spun slowly in his chair, glancing at you. “You okay?”
The automatic answer rose immediately. Yeah, I’m fine. But with the look in Han’s eyes, it caught somewhere in your throat. You stared down at your notebook instead, and the lyrics blurred as tears came to your eyes. You were so tired of everything – tired of the arguments you had with your boyfriend, the back-and-forth, the constant second-guessing of whether he was where he said he was.
Han’s expression changed almost instantly, a look of alarm coming to his face. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said carefully, “but… you look really exhausted lately.”
Your fingers tightened around your pen. “It’s just…” You exhaled shakily. “Things at home.”
He stayed quiet, waiting, giving you space instead of demanding answers. You felt your mind race as you tried to decide where to begin. You laughed suddenly, bitter and small, realising you didn’t even have the energy for that. “Do you ever get so tired that you stop feeling like a person?”
Han frowned slightly. “Yeah.”
“I think I’m getting there, or… might already be there.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. “He’s been… disappearing, lately.” Your voice stayed fixed on the notebook because looking at Han felt impossible now. “He’s late replying, if he even replies at all. He goes out and stays out until the next morning. He doesn’t even seem to see me anymore unless I’m trying to leave.”
Han didn’t interrupt once.
“He says I make him act like that.” Your throat tightened. “And maybe I do. I don’t know anymore.”
“You don’t,” Han said immediately. The firmness startled you enough to finally look up. You could see his jaw tighten. “You don’t make someone treat you badly,” he said, shaking his head.
Your chest ached, and you looked away again before he could see it on your face. “It’s stupid,” you muttered. “I keep thinking if I just tried harder, spent less time here, maybe—”
“No.” Softer this time. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
Something inside you cracked quietly at the words, because he sounded so certain, so unlike the voice you heard at home.
You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, laughing once in a way that sounded dangerously close to crying. “This is embarrassing.”
“It’s not.”
“I swear,” you said shakily, “if crying was fun, I’d be having the time of my life.”
Han’s face fell - not dramatically, not performatively - just genuine hurt on your behalf. And somehow that hurt more than anything because your boyfriend barely reacted anymore when you cried.
Han leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How long has it been like this?”
You swallowed.
“A while.”
“And you’ve been dealing with it alone?”
You shrugged because the alternative was admitting how lonely you’d become.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air conditioner hummed softly overhead, and somewhere outside the studio, someone laughed in the hallway.
Han looked down at his hands before speaking again. “You know,” he said quietly, “every time you come in here looking so tired, I keep hoping someone’s taking care of you when you leave.”
Your breath caught, but he carried on.
“But hearing this…” He shook his head faintly. “I don’t think they are.”
The kindness in his voice nearly undid you completely. You stared at him, suddenly overwhelmed by how careful he always was with you. The way he noticed your moods before you even spoke. The way he guided you back during recording when your thoughts drifted too far away. The quiet encouragement after every take.
Good job.
That sounded beautiful.
You should believe in yourself more.
Tiny things that felt enormous after months of being made to feel small.
Han must’ve noticed the panic rising in your expression because his voice softened again. “You deserve to feel safe with someone.”
Your eyes burned instantly, and you looked away, trying to hide your swollen eyes and puffy cheeks.
He hesitated before adding, quieter still, “You know that, right?”
You wanted to say yes. Instead, more tears slipped free before you could stop them. Han reacted immediately, sliding the tissue box across the desk without making a big deal out of it. He wasn’t awkward about it, and there was no frustration on his face as you struggled to stop crying. He was patient, sitting close to you as he waited for you to get it out of your system. And when you finally covered your face in humiliation, laughing through tears, he said gently:
“Hey.”
You looked up.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re okay here.”
You tried to trick yourself into believing that your feelings for Han were still innocent after that.
The day you opened up to Han in the studio, he’d lingered awkwardly after Chan and Changbin returned with food, like he was trying to decide whether he was overstepping. Then, while the two men were distracted unpacking bags and arguing over stolen fries, he’d quietly held his phone out toward you.
“Can I give you my number?”
You’d blinked at him.
“Just in case,” he added quickly. “You sounded like you needed someone.”
Your chest had tightened painfully at how sincere he looked. So, you gave him your phone and watched as he saved his number under “Hannie”. And somehow, after that, he slipped quietly into your life in all the spaces your boyfriend had slowly abandoned.
At first, it was a simple text after studio sessions.
You did really well today :)
That bridge you wrote is still stuck in my head.
Don’t overthink the high note. You sounded good.
Then it became:
Did you eat yet?
Go drink water before you answer this.
You’re still awake, aren’t you?
You’d find yourself smiling at your phone in dark rooms after the rare, always miserable evenings with Wooyoung. Sometimes, after arguments that left your chest aching and your confidence shattered, there’d be a message waiting for you from Han like he somehow sensed when things were bad.
Get home safe.
Proud of you today.
Don’t be so hard on yourself, okay?
Nobody had taken care of you gently in a long time, and Han was gentle with you constantly.
The dangerous part was how natural it became.
Your days slowly began to revolve around the studio. You’d arrive in the afternoons to work with 3Racha and somehow always end up beside Han without meaning to. On the couch during playback sessions. Shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the computer monitor. Knees bumping beneath tables cluttered with notebooks and empty coffee cups.
At first, you thought you were imagining it. But then you started noticing how he always made room for you specifically. If Changbin sat beside you first, Han would drag another chair over anyway. If there wasn’t enough space on the couch, he’d squeeze in close instead of sitting elsewhere. Every tiny movement brought him brushing against you — his shoulder against yours, his arm nudging yours while reaching for a pen, his thigh pressed warm against yours under the desk.
And he never moved away quickly… But neither did you.
One night, Chan had stepped out to take a call while Changbin disappeared to the vending machines downstairs. You and Han stayed hunched over lyric sheets together in the dim studio lighting, exhaustion softening everything around the edges. You were staring blankly at your notebook again when Han nudged your knee lightly with his own.
“You disappeared.”
You huffed quietly. “You say that a lot.”
“Because you do it a lot.”
His voice carried that familiar warmth now. He sounded comfortable. Fond, your brain supplied, but you pushed that traitorous voice away.
You looked sideways at him. “Maybe I just like it better in my head.”
Han studied you carefully for a second. Then, softer: “I think people have made you feel lonely for too long.”
Your breath caught. He said things like that sometimes, quiet observations that landed directly in your chest. Before you could answer, he reached over and gently tapped your notebook.
“Read me that line again.”
You stumbled through the lyrics self-consciously while he listened intently, chin resting against his hand. The whole time, his thigh stayed pressed against yours beneath the table, solid and warm and grounding.
When you finished, Han smiled immediately. “That’s beautiful.”
You rolled your eyes weakly. “You say that about everything I write.”
“Because everything you write sounds honest.”
The way he looked at you after saying it made your stomach twist. His gaze wasn’t lustful; it wasn’t even romantic. It was just… intense. He paid attention to every small thing you said. It should’ve all felt harmless, but lately, nothing about Han felt harmless anymore.
Especially not when you got home at night and found yourself waiting for his messages more eagerly than your boyfriend’s.
Especially not when your phone lit up at 1am with Did you make it home? and somehow that simple question made you feel more cared for than you had in months. Or when you replied: Yeah. You should sleep though. And Han answered almost instantly: After you do.
The line between friendship and something far more dangerous had begun to blur so gradually that you barely noticed it happening. Until one evening in the studio, when everyone burst into laughter at something Changbin said, and you instinctively turned toward Han at the exact same moment he turned toward you.
Your faces ended up inches apart - close enough to feel his breath, and close enough that the laughter around you faded into background noise entirely. Neither of you moved immediately. And for one long, aching second as his eyes dropped to your mouth, you thought he might kiss you.
The almost-kiss haunted you for days.
You replayed it constantly against your will — the warmth of Han’s breath, the way his eyes had dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back up again, the awful moment where neither of you had moved away. You’d wanted him to kiss you, and that was the problem.
You had gone home that night sick with guilt, because no matter how awful your relationship had become, no matter how many times your boyfriend had hurt you, cheated on you, made you cry until your chest physically hurt—
You were still with him.
And somewhere along the way, your feelings for Han had stopped being innocent.
Wooyoung noticed the shift immediately. Maybe because you’d been distant, maybe because you’d started smiling at your phone without realising. Or maybe because people in the industry eventually noticed everything.
The confrontation happened three nights later.
“You and Han seem close lately.”
You’d looked up sharply from where you sat on his couch, your stomach instantly dropping. His expression looked casual, almost too casual.
“What?”
“I heard you’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”
Your pulse pounded hard enough to hurt. “It’s work.”
“Mhm.”
That sound. That dismissive little hum. You hated how quickly it made you defensive.
“We’re writing together,” you said carefully.
“You seem to write together a lot.”
The implication made heat crawl up your neck. Nothing had happened… but it almost had, and somehow that made you feel even guiltier. He leaned back against the sofa, studying you.
“You know,” he said lightly, “it’s funny.” You stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue. “You spent months crying over me talking to other girls, but now suddenly you’re attached to another guy all the time?”
The words hit like a slap, and you were shaking your head before he could finish. “I’m not attached—”
“Then why’s everyone talking about it?”
Your throat tightened instantly; you didn’t know how to answer that.
He sighed dramatically, rubbing a hand over his face like you were exhausting him. “I just didn’t think you were that kind of person.”
And somehow, despite everything he’d done to you, shame flooded your body immediately. You could feel your eyes getting wet as you replied, “I’m not.”
“Then maybe stop acting like it.”
You barely slept that night, and by the next studio session, panic had settled deep inside your chest. Panic about losing him despite everything he’d done, about your life potentially crumbling around you because of your own poor choices.
So, you did the only thing you could do. You started pulling away.
You stopped automatically sitting beside Han. When you needed feedback on lyrics, you went to Chan instead. When Changbin offered to help with production adjustments, you latched onto it gratefully just to avoid being alone with Han. You could tell that the older members were confused by the change in attitude, but they didn’t say anything, simply choosing to share confused looks when they thought you weren’t looking.
Out of it all, it was your texts that hurt the most, because he kept texting like nothing had changed at first, despite your new distance at the studio.
Did you eat?
You looked tired today :(
You left your hoodie here again lol
You started taking hours to answer, sometimes not replying at all. You could practically feel his confusion through the screen at the sudden frostiness, and your heart broke at the thought of doing this until he stopped texting one day. But you had to, because Wooyoung was right. You’d been a hypocrite.
Inside the studio, the atmosphere changed quickly as soon as Han realised these new changes were seemingly permanent.
You caught him watching you constantly now, brows furrowed whenever you drifted toward Chan instead of him. Every time you slipped out of conversations early. Every time you quietly moved your chair further away. And still, he kept trying. He’d save the seat beside him automatically before realising you weren’t going to take it. He’d turn to make a joke to you first before remembering you’d barely spoken to him all day.
The hurt in his eyes every single time made you feel sick.
Then one evening, after Chan and Changbin finally left for the night, Han stopped you before you could escape, too.
“Can we talk?”
Your heart dropped instantly, and your hands froze where they had been packing your things away. The studio suddenly felt too small. Han stood near the desk, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him.
“What’s going on?”
You forced yourself to stay calm. “Nothing’s going on.”
“That’s not true.”
His voice wasn’t angry, just confused. Hurt. “You’ve barely looked at me all week.”
“I’ve just been busy.”
“For me specifically?”
You looked away immediately, and Han exhaled shakily, shifting on his feet.
“Did I do something?”
The genuine confusion in his voice almost broke you.
“No.”
“Then why are you acting like you can’t stand being around me anymore?”
Your chest physically ached because you didn’t want distance from Han at all. You wanted too much closeness. And that terrified you.
You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself. “I think maybe I’ve been too comfortable here.”
Han frowned. “What does that mean?”
“I’m taking up too much of your time,” you said quickly. “I just want to finish the songs and stop being such a burden.”
Han's eyes went wide, and he stared at you like you’d said something unbelievable. “A burden?”
“You already have your own schedules and work and—”
“Hey.” His voice softened immediately. “You’re not a burden to us.”
You swallowed hard.
“To me,” he corrected quietly.
The sincerity in his face made it almost impossible to continue lying, and you could feel your hands starting to shake as he stepped closer to you slowly.
“I like being around you.”
Your pulse stumbled as he stopped in front of you, close enough that a sudden intake of breath would have your chests touching.
“I love being around you,” he murmured.
The room went painfully silent. It wasn’t a confession, not explicitly. But it was enough for your panic to surge violently, your boyfriend’s words echoing viciously in your head.
I didn’t think you were that kind of person.
You took a step backwards, and Han froze instantly. You decided then that you wouldn’t stop yearning for him, that you wouldn’t stop being a hypocrite, unless you made him stop.
You made your face go cold. “I think we’ve been unprofessional.”
The words visibly hit him, and your heart shattered in your chest as he stepped back. You forced yourself to continue anyway.
“This whole thing got too personal, and it made me uncomfortable.”
Han stared at you like he genuinely didn’t recognise the person standing in front of him anymore.
“You’re uncomfortable around me?”
You hated how quietly he asked it, but you nodded anyway, believing this was for the best.
The silence afterwards felt unbearable, and you struggled to keep your face impassive and your breathing steady. Han looked down briefly, jaw tightening hard enough that you could see the muscle flicker. When he finally spoke again, his voice sounded smaller somehow.
“Okay.”
Your chest cracked open, but you stayed still because if you moved, you thought you might start crying.
Han gave one short nod like he was trying desperately to compose himself. “Got it.”
He walked past you toward the studio door, and you expected him to leave straightaway, but he paused in the doorway.
His back was still to you as he mumbled, “I wish you’d just told me the truth.”
And then he left.
The door clicked shut behind him softly. You stood there frozen in the middle of the empty studio, surrounded by unfinished songs and dim lights and the lingering warmth of someone you’d just hurt terribly. And for the first time in a long time, the loneliness felt entirely self-inflicted.
You almost didn’t go back to the studio the next day. You sat in your car outside the building for nearly twenty minutes with your hands clenched around the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles hurt. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to turn around and leave before you had to face the consequences of what you’d done.
Because for the first time in a long time, the ache in your chest wasn’t because of your boyfriend. It was because of you.
You’d barely slept after hurting Han. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the look on his face when you said you felt uncomfortable. You heard the way his voice had gone quiet afterwards when he’d wished for the truth. You wondered if he hated you now? Part of you thought he should, but a bigger part selfishly hoped that he didn’t.
When you finally forced yourself upstairs and pushed open the studio door, Chan and Changbin were already there, and neither of them greeted you the way they normally did. There was no loud teasing from Changbin and no bright smile from Chan. Just silence. It was impossible to ignore the atmosphere, and you knew instantly that Han had told them what had happened.
Your stomach dropped.
Chan glanced up from the computer briefly before looking back down again. Changbin leaned against the couch with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. You’d never realised before how protective they were of Han until now. They weren’t just friends, they were family to each other. And you had hurt one of their own.
“Morning,” you said weakly.
Changbin muttered a greeting back, and Chan only nodded.
The entire session felt unbearable. You tried focusing on lyrics spread across the desk, but your eyes kept drifting toward the studio door every few minutes without meaning to. Every creak in the hallway made your heart jump before sinking again. You hated yourself for it, because you were the one who pushed him away. Still, some awful part of you kept hoping he’d walk in anyway. Maybe because if he came, it would mean he didn’t completely hate you yet.
Another hour passed, then another and Han never appeared. Eventually, Chan sighed quietly from across the desk.
“He’s not coming anymore.”
The words landed heavily in the room, and you looked up too fast for someone who claimed to be uninterested. “What?”
Chan finally met your eyes fully for the first time all day. “Han,” he said gently. “He’s not coming to these sessions anymore.”
Your throat tightened instantly, but you forced yourself to look confused. “Oh.”
Changbin made an incredulous sound under his breath. “Oh?” he repeated. “That’s all you’ve got?”
“Changbin,” Chan warned softly.
“No, seriously.” Changbin pushed himself upright, frustration written all over his face. “What happened?”
You stared down at the notebook in front of you. “Nothing happened.”
Both men looked unconvinced from the start, and Chan carefully leaned back in his chair.
“We’re not stupid.”
Heat crept up your neck as Changbin rolled his chair over to sit beside Chan, both sets of eyes fixed on you.
“We could see what was going on between you two,” Changbin added bluntly. “Everyone could.”
Your heart stuttered painfully as you tried to disagree. “There was nothing going on.”
“Then why’d you tell him he made you uncomfortable?”
The shame hit instantly, and you swallowed hard, hit again by the image of Han looking so hurt. “Because I was being unprofessional.”
Changbin actually laughed once at that, completely disbelieving. “Come on.”
You stayed silent, not wanting to discuss it with them because you knew you were close to breaking, to spilling everything.
Chan’s voice softened. “He really liked you.”
The words hurt far more than they should have, and you shifted in your seat as you felt your heart start to race.
“He would come home talking about you constantly,” Chan continued carefully. “He hasn’t done that in a long time.”
You blinked rapidly at the table.
“And then suddenly he comes back looking miserable because apparently you don’t even want him near you anymore.” Changbin shook his head. “None of it makes sense.”
Your chest tightened painfully enough that breathing became difficult, because it didn’t make sense. Not even to you.
Chan watched you for a long moment before speaking again. “Did he do something?”
Your head snapped up immediately. “No.”
The answer came too fast, too honest, and both men noticed.
Changbin frowned slightly. “Then what is it?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it again. How could you possibly explain this without sounding awful? Without admitting that somewhere along the line, you’d started caring about Han too much while still trapped inside another relationship?
Chan’s expression shifted subtly as he studied you. Then, quietly, he asked the question you had been waiting for, hoping for.
“Did your boyfriend say something?”
Your composure cracked immediately. Your eyes burned, and suddenly you were exhausted. Too exhausted to keep pretending anymore.
You looked down at your hands in your lap and whispered, “He heard about Han and me spending time together.”
Neither interrupted, but you saw them lean forward from the corner of your eye to hear you better.
“He made me feel like…” You swallowed hard. “Like I was becoming the kind of person he is.”
Chan’s face softened instantly, and you laughed shakily, wiping angrily at your eyes before tears could fall.
“Which is stupid, because nothing even happened.”
“But you wanted it to,” Changbin said quietly.
The honesty of it made your chest ache, and you nodded once, ashamed.
“I started comparing them,” you admitted. “And I hated myself for it.”
The room stayed silent as they waited for you to continue. Both men could finally see the truth behind the mask you’d worn when you walked in.
You stared at the floor as the words finally spilt out after being trapped inside you for weeks.
“Han notices when I’m tired. He listens when I talk. He makes me feel…” Your voice broke softly. “Important.” You laughed bitterly. “My boyfriend barely even looks at me anymore unless he’s guilty.”
Chan looked devastated for you, and somehow that made it easier to continue.
“When my boyfriend found out how close we’d become, he made me feel disgusting for it,” you whispered. “So, I thought maybe if I pushed Han away hard enough, things would go back to normal.”
Changbin sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face.
“But instead… I just hurt him,” you finished quietly.
Nobody spoke for a moment before Chan asked the question you’d spent the past year of your relationship avoiding.
“Why are you still with him?”
Your chest tightened instantly, and you stared blankly ahead. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not true,” Chan said gently.
Your eyes filled despite yourself. “Because I feel like I can’t leave.”
The admission sounded pathetic out loud. But it was true.
“He’s been my entire life for two years.” Your voice shook. “And every time I try imagining leaving, it feels impossible.”
You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself.
“Like I’m trapped.”
Chan’s gaze softened immediately. “In what way?”
You exhaled shakily. “Like I’m stuck inside a cage,” you whispered. “And every time I think I’ve found the door, something pulls me back in again.”
Silence settled heavily afterwards. Then unexpectedly, Chan smiled. It wasn’t mocking ot dismissive, just gentle.
“Maybe,” he said softly, “Han was trying to be your key.”
Your breath caught instantly.
Changbin nodded quietly beside him. “And maybe he still wants to be.”
The ache in your chest became unbearable then. Because for the first time, you realised the thing terrifying you most wasn’t losing your boyfriend.
It was the possibility that you’d already lost Han instead.
The studio fell quiet after Chan’s words.
Maybe Han was trying to be your key.
The thought lodged itself painfully somewhere deep in your chest, impossible to ignore. Your hands trembled slightly in your lap as you stared blankly at the lyric sheets scattered across the desk. Everything suddenly felt too sharp, too loud, too real.
Then your phone buzzed, the sound making all three of you glance downward instinctively. Your stomach twisted the second you saw Wooyoung’s name across the screen.
A message preview lit up your lockscreen:
baby, they’re just rumours. i promise. the pictures are edited.
You stared at the words, and something inside you finally snapped - not painfully but quietly. Cleanly. Because suddenly you were just… tired. Tired of lies, of crying. Tired of waiting for him to become the person he used to pretend to be, of feeling guilty for wanting kindness.
You thought you’d feel devastated seeing that text. Instead, you felt nothing at all. Just clarity.
Chan noticed the shift in your expression immediately. “You okay?”
Slowly, you looked up. And for the first time in months, your answer was honest.
“No,” you said calmly. “But I think I’m about to be.”
Changbin blinked. Before either of them could ask what you meant, you were already standing abruptly, grabbing your bag so quickly your chair nearly tipped backwards.
“I need to go.”
Chan frowned slightly. “Go where?”
You looked down at your phone one last time, then locked the screen.
“To finally leave him.”
The silence afterwards lasted half a second before Changbin broke into a stunned grin. “About damn time.”
Even Chan looked relieved. You laughed shakily despite yourself, already halfway to the door. And as you left, Chan called after you softly:
“Don’t lose your nerve.”
You wouldn’t. Not this time. You finally had your key.
The drive home felt surreal. Your heartbeat pounded hard enough to make your hands shake, but beneath the nerves, there was something else blooming quietly for the first time in years.
Freedom.
You stormed through your apartment gathering every single thing that belonged to Wooyoung with frantic energy — hoodies, chargers, shoes, random toiletries abandoned in your bathroom. You carelessly shoved everything into bags, not even bothering to fold anything properly.
At some point, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. Messy hair. Dark circles. Determined eyes. You barely recognised yourself.
Good.
Then you hauled the bags into your car and drove straight to his apartment before you could lose momentum.
The whole way there, your mind kept trying to panic. What if he cries again? What if he convinces you to stay? What if you regret this? But underneath every fearful thought was another one now.
What if freedom feels better than this?
By the time you reached his apartment, your pulse was racing violently. You barely knocked before shoving the door open with your spare key. And immediately stopped.
Your boyfriend stood frozen near the kitchen, and he wasn’t alone. A woman sat on the couch behind him, wearing one of his hoodies and not much else. For a second, nobody moved. You saw the moment the girl’s eyes widened in horror, and Wooyoung went pale. And then, unexpectedly—
You laughed. Actually laughed. Not hysterically, not heartbreakingly. Just completely, utterly done.
Your boyfriend stared at you in confusion. “Baby—”
“Oh my god,” you laughed again, dropping the bags of his things onto the floor with a heavy thud. “This is perfect.”
“It’s not what it looks like.”
The line was so cliché it almost made you laugh harder. The girl looked mortified already, scrambling to grab her things. You barely even acknowledged her. Because for the first time, you realised none of this was about her, or the others before her. It was about him, and you were finally exhausted enough to stop carrying the weight of his choices.
“She’s nobody,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “I swear.”
You walked past him calmly toward the bedroom. “I literally do not care anymore.”
He followed after you immediately, panic rising in his voice as you started gathering your belongings from drawers and shelves with brisk efficiency. “Can you just listen to me?”
“Nope.”
“You’re seriously overreacting right now.”
That made you pause. Slowly, you turned toward him, and suddenly you saw everything clearly.
The manipulation. The excuses. The endless cycle.
All of it looked pathetic now.
“I spent two years begging you to love me properly,” you said quietly. “And you made me feel crazy for wanting basic respect.”
His expression faltered.
You grabbed the last of your things. “You know what’s funny?” you continued. “I thought leaving you would destroy me.”
“Baby—”
“But honestly?” You shrugged lightly. “I feel great.”
His face twisted desperately then, realising too late that this time was different. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
You slung your bag over your shoulder.
And just before walking past him, you smiled sweetly. “You’re dumped.”
Then you left. Just like that. No tears. No begging. No looking back.
The cool night air hit your face as you stepped outside his building, breathing hard like you’d just escaped something burning. Your hands shook violently now that it was over, but underneath the adrenaline, your chest felt strangely light. Like the cage door had finally swung open.
And suddenly, there was only one thought left in your mind.
Han.
You had to find Han.
You drove to the studio first, of course. It’s where this all began, and you were hoping it was where it would continue. Your heart pounded the entire way there, hands trembling against the steering wheel as every possible outcome fought through your head at once.
Maybe he wouldn’t want to see you.
Maybe you’d hurt him too badly.
Maybe you were too late.
The building was quieter than usual when you rushed inside, taking the stairs two at a time because waiting for the elevator felt unbearable. Your lungs burned by the time you reached the familiar hallway.
The studio's lights were off. It was empty.
Your stomach dropped, and you stood there staring through the small glass window in the door, chest heaving, disappointment crashing over you so fast it almost made you dizzy.
Where was he?
Your phone buzzed, and you nearly dropped it as you pulled it from your pocket. It was a message from Chan, knowing just what you needed at the perfect time.
Roof.
You didn’t even stop to answer. You’d thank him later, in person.
The rooftop door slammed open loudly as you burst through it into the cool night air.
And there he was.
Han sat alone near the edge of the rooftop with headphones around his neck and a notebook balanced on one knee. The city lights painted everything around him gold and silver in the dark. For a second, he didn’t notice you, and then he looked up. And froze.
You stopped a few feet away, suddenly unable to breathe properly.
Han stood slowly, confusion written all over his face. “What are you doing here?”
Your eyes burned immediately, and without thinking, you blurted out, “I broke up with him.”
Shock flickered across his expression. “What?”
“I left him.” Your voice shook. “I finally left him.”
Han stared at you silently, like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
You laughed shakily, wiping quickly at your eyes. “And then I realised the only person I wanted to tell was you.”
Something in Han’s face softened painfully, but he still looked guarded. Careful. He’d never looked like that before, and your heart broke knowing that you'd done that to him.
“You hurt me,” he admitted quietly.
The honesty hit straight through your chest. “I know.” You stepped closer slowly. “I know I did.”
Han looked away briefly, jaw tightening. “When you said you were uncomfortable around me…” He exhaled shakily. “Do you know how much that messed with my head?”
Guilt crashed through you instantly. “I lied.”
“I figured.”
Your throat tightened. “I was scared,” you whispered. “Not of you. Never of you.”
Han finally looked back at you then. You could see the hurt still lingering there beneath everything else.
“My boyfriend made me feel guilty for caring about you,” you admitted softly. “And instead of facing what I felt, I pushed you away because I thought it would fix things.” A humourless laugh escaped you. “It didn’t.”
The wind moved softly around both of you, carrying the distant sounds of the city below. Han stayed quiet for a long moment before asking, “Do you know what the worst part was?”
You shook your head slightly.
“I believed you.”
Your chest cracked open all over again.
“He spent so long making you feel small,” Han continued quietly, “that when you suddenly started avoiding me, I thought maybe I’d imagined everything between us.”
“You didn’t.” The answer came instantly, certain.
Han’s eyes searched yours carefully, and for the first time, you didn’t look away.
“I tried so hard not to fall for you,” you admitted.
His breath caught softly.
“But every time you checked if I’d eaten, every time you stayed beside me in the studio, every time you looked at me like I mattered…” Your voice broke slightly. “I did anyway.”
The silence afterwards felt enormous.
Then Han laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head once. “You seriously waited until after destroying me emotionally to say all this?”
A startled laugh escaped you through your tears. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
But he was smiling now - small. Fond. Relieved. Your heart stumbled painfully at the sight of it. Han stepped toward you slowly until barely any space remained between you, close enough that you could feel warmth radiating from him in the cold night air.
“You know,” he murmured softly, “I was trying really hard not to kiss you right now.”
Your breath caught. “Who says you have to try?”
Something shifted in his expression then. You could see the relief, the affection, the want.
Warm hands cupped your face gently like you were something precious, something worth being careful with. The kiss itself was soft at first — almost hesitant — like he was still giving you the chance to pull away. You didn’t. Instead, you grabbed fistfuls of his hoodie and kissed him back with everything you’d been holding in for months. All the loneliness, the wanting, the relief. Han made a quiet sound against your mouth before pulling you closer, arms wrapping tightly around your waist like he never wanted to let go again.
When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours and laughed softly.
“There you are.”
Three simple words, and somehow they undid you more than anything else. Your eyes filled immediately, and Han smiled gently, brushing his thumb beneath one of them before the tear could fall.
“No more cages,” he whispered.
For the first time in a very long time, you believed him.
[Part Two]
a/n: I want me some Hannie in my life. Part Two will be this week, and I'm gonna throw some real shit at the fan 😈 if you want tagging lmk in the comments!
( 애인 ) 𝒾n which ︵ one sleepy, unfinished text at 2:00 am turns your peaceful night into a full-blown emergency for eight overprotective boyfriends. you were just trying to be sweet before drifting off, but now you’re waking up to forty missed calls and the sound of tires screeching toward your apartment.
13ss fear of loss anxiety spikes suicide misconception very fluffy angst if you squint established polyamorous relationship
happy 8 years to my babies i love them so much ♡
⌨️ like&&reblog for a kiss. ── #click4masterlist to see more.
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Summary: The boys can't get over how cute it is when you smile in your sleep.
You were known within your group for many things. You were sweet, soft-hearted and very dedicated to perfecting dances and your vocals. The boys babied you, whilst you weren’t the youngest, everyone felt the need to protect you, to look after you. You were also known for having a resting cute face, especially when you sleep.
One thing Hyunjin adored about you was that when you slept, you would smile in your sleep. He often wondered what you were dreaming about. Sometimes you remembered your dream, sometimes you didn’t. He enjoyed hearing about your dreams; nine times out of ten, he was in your dreams. Sometimes your dreams were filled with fantasy or universes that weren’t real, where you and Hyunjin and the rest of the members lived wild lives. Sometimes your dreams were more realistic, sometimes reliving memories or dreaming of the future. Your dreams tended to be as sweet as you.
One time, you woke up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and asked Chan when he had learned to talk to dolphins. It was adorable, really. Sleepy, you often came out with the most random questions. Like that time you asked Changbin why he thought he could drink the ocean or asked Jeongin why he thought lifting a house was safe.
Either way, it was adorable. That was something all eight men agreed on. That was when you slept, you were the definition of cuteness, and they were always eager to hear about your dreams.
You were in the green room, lying on top of Hyunjin, curled up close to him. Your head was tucked under his chin, one hand lay on his chest, whilst the other rested by his side. You were fast asleep. You always like to get a nap in before going on stage. And you still had like four hours left before you needed to be on stage.
Hyunjin kept one arm wrapped around your waist in a gentle but tight grip. Every so often, he would kiss the crown of your head as you slept. His free hand scrolled through his phone as he and the guys quietly talked. He had also napped with you, but he had woken up half an hour ago.
“She’s doing it.” Felix’s voice spoke with a quiet giggle.
Hyunjin looked at your face to see if your smile had reappeared. You had been smiling earlier, but it had disappeared randomly. But now it was back.
Minho whipped out his phone and took two pictures. One of your sleeping, smiling face and one of you and Hyunjin. Of Hyunjin smiling fondly at you, his phone now on the armrest of the couch, by his head. His free hand stroked your hair as you nuzzled closer to his body.
Hyunjin looked up for a moment to see Skijigi watching with a fond smile, almost cooing at your sleeping form. One of the make-up artists smiled quietly as she watched the two of you.
Chan was clearly getting cuteness aggression, but since he didn’t want to wake you, he grabbed the closet person to him, Jisung. He squeezed him close and shook him.
Jeongin had the SKZ Talker camera pointing at you and Hyunjin. Seungmin rolled his eyes, pretending you weren’t adorable, but Changbin caught him smiling fondly before looking back at his phone.
Changbin, the lucky man, got to see you like that often due to sharing a dorm with you and Hyunjin.
You snuggled closer to Hyunjin as you slept, the smile still on your face. Slowly, voices filled the air, quiet. Not wanting to wake you. It was like an unspoken rule that if you were asleep, the boys and staff did their best to be quiet. The guys often made a game out of it.
Like the time when you fell asleep in dance practice, so the boys did their best to stay quiet, only for Chan to get really into the dance. He jumped, landing loudly and then stomped, causing you to wake up. He bought dinner for everyone.
Or the time you fell asleep during a Skz code, they just let you sleep; they kept their voices down until Han screamed when a bug flew at him, causing you to wake up. He bought drinks for everyone when you all got home.
Either way, you were adorable when you slept. The boys all thought you were the cutest. And that smile, the soft, quiet, happy smile when you slept, it made them all wonder what your dreams were like. But they knew you were happy when you slept, and that’s all they could ask for.
NoonaRachagirly: Aweee! Love is adorable when she sleeps. Look at that smile! Bet she’s dreaming of Hyunjin. *Same girl.*
HoldmyHeart: Did anyone else catch Seungmin flipping Changbin off? Changbin ran after him so fast! Mahwahahaha!
Hyunove-DoeRet: Look at them cooing at her like she’s a sleeping kitten or puppy. The boys love their girl. Can you blame them? Just look at that sweet, sleepy smile.
StrawBERRY: Did anyone else see how Chan just lifted Han? Han melted! Did you see him just accept that? Rawww! My turn next!
PoPPInsparkles: No, but did anyone hear the staff cooing and awing at her? The staff adore her just as much.
UltraPuppy: Kim Seungmin! You’re not fooling anyone! We see that smile!
LifeissoSHhh: Look at Hyunjin keeping a soft but protective hold on his muse. He’s so precious. He looks at her with so much love in his eyes.
ArticFox_Iny: Innie looked adorable with morning hair. Ahhhh! Also, VocalRacha's breakfast outing was waaaay too cute. JeongMinOve for the win.
PokeMyEye: Did you see the way I.N smiled in the mirror? Ahhhh, he did it every opportunity this episode. In the bathroom mirror, the elevator mirror, and the store he passed by. Man, way just smiling, and now I’m smiling.
RoyallySkz: Love really is just a real-life Sleeping Beauty.
